Twelve Days of Whomas
by alice indigo opal
Summary: Countdown to Christmas, with one story per Doctor. Twelve Doctors in twelve days. Collaboration with Brighter than sunflowers.
1. Day One

**Twelve Days of Whomas**

_Day One_

**A/N: **This story requires a bit of an explanation, so forgive me, I'll try to make it brief. My dear friend** Brighter than sunflowers **(link to her account is in my bio) and I are writing this story as a collaboration. There will be twelve stories (one for each Doctor) that will be posted every day until the 24th of December. I'll be writing the even Doctors, and she'll be taking the odd, but the entire story will be able to be viewed in full on both of our accounts. Enjoy the story, and remember to stay tuned for more.

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><p>"What are you doing?" The old man in the black suit appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. He walked into the console room deliberately, looking and the young man, young woman, and his own granddaughter. For some unbeknownst reason, they were adorning the white walls with green garlands.<p>

"We're hanging up tinsel," the young woman, Barbara, said.

"Well, I can rather see that," said the Doctor in his very particular condescending tone, "Is there any reason why you are defacing my time machine?"

"We're not defacing it, Grandfather," said Susan stepping down from the ladder she had just been perched on. "We're decorating it, for Christmas."

"Hmmm?" The Doctor questioned. What fantastical notion had the child got into her head this time? Something those teachers had planted in her head, no doubt. Humans.

"Oh, well I don't suppose they have Christmas on other planets and such," Said the young man. What was his name? Chatterton. Chesserman. Something like that.

"Oh Grandfather," said Susan, seized with an exuberant excitement. It wasn't often that she knew something that her grandfather didn't. "It' a holiday they have on Earth, it's just wonderful." The Doctor didn't have any particular interest in hearing about some celebration on a planet he cared very little for, but regardless he indulged his granddaughter's wish. Well, he wasn't as cold as they all seemed to think.

Susan began to chatter away at rapid fire pace. He was an old man, she spoke too quickly for him to catch the entirety of what she was saying. The gist seemed to be something about presents, lights, and singing. None of which excited him greatly.

"I can't imagine him singing," said Ian said in a not-so-quiet voice to Barbara. The Doctor ignored him.

"Well, I still don't see why you are decorating the TARDIS," He asked, happy to move away from the history of some holiday.

"Because," said Barbara, as though it was the most obvious thing in the whole world, "We've decided to celebrate Christmas."

"Hmmm? Oh no, I don't think so. You see, in a time machine we have no holidays."

"That's a pretty pessimistic point of you," said Ian. "From that logic, couldn't you also say that every day is a holiday? Come on, Barbara, Susan." He gestured to the two young women. All three of his travelling companions resumed their decoration without paying any attention to the Doctor. He watched the disfiguration of his TARDIS distastefully.

"What would you like for Christmas?" Susan asked, leaning forwarded precariously on the ladder that Ian held to keep from falling.

"A gift? Well some sensible travelling companions would be most welcome."

"Oh, bah humbug," said Barbara looking at the man who was now holding his lapels and looking on the trio in a dignified, if somewhat aloof manner. "Imagine not liking Christmas," she said more to herself than actually to the Doctor. "Just you wait," she was looking at him directly again, "you'll catch the holiday spirit.

"No, I don't think so," said the Doctor, letting go of his lapels and walking over to the TARDIS console. "Let's do something worthwhile, shall we? The Aztecs, I think, were a wonderful people…"

"Later, Grandfather," said Susan in her chirpy voice. Stepping down from the ladder again, she ran from the console room. The Doctor watched her go. Such energy. A moment later she reappeared, holding a transistor radio. After fiddling for a moment with the batteries she turned the dial and scratchy music began to play.

"You can get radio in space," Ian walked over to Susan. The scientist, of course. The young girl showed, him the radio explaining to him something that was inaudible over the sound of the music.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Let your heart be light_

_From now your troubles will be out of sight_

The Doctor grimaced at the loud sound. Barbara turned to glance at him and burst out laughing.

"Do you know, I think I am going to call you Ebenezer Scrooge." The Doctor had not the faintest idea who or what an Ebenezer Scrooge was, nor could he bring himself to care whether or not he was one.

Why would they be interested in the wonders of space and time, when they could sit here hanging tinsel and listening to loud music on a transistor radio? Yes, it was quite clear that they had made up their minds to do as they pleased without consulting him. When had they stopped listening? He would have to fix that.

"Oh don't be such a downer," said Ian, "Christmas is great, it represent joy, hope, everything you stand for."

"I don't stand for joy or hope," said the Doctor, "We travel. If in our travels someone is helped, it has happened completely inadvertently." He didn't notice the three companions turn and glance at each other. Grins lurking just beneath the stoic faces.

"Merry Christmas, Grandfather," said Susan, finally.

"It can't be a holiday on a time machine, how many times do I have to tell you, child?"

The other three occupants of the time machine fell into a fit of laughter and didn't stop for a very, very long time.


	2. Day Two

_Day Two_

**A/N:** Hello, friends, and here we are, the Second Day of Whomas! Naturally, this one's starring the Second Doctor, Patrick Troughton. Small reminder that this is a collaborative work with with **Brighter than sunflowers** (_see bio for link_) and a celebration of the season through twelve Doctors in twelve days. More to come shortly. :)

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><p>Ah, the Ashes and the Cindres: it was a feud forged in Heaven Above, surely.<p>

The white brick house with red trim, the red brick house with white trim. Each with husbands of about fifty; one with black hair, one with white. Each with wives no more than forty; one tall, and one short. Each with children of ages two and twelve.

They were exactly parallel and perfectly opposite. Just the same and entirely different.

Each family had inhabited the house adjacent to the other for as long as any member of either clan could remember. Given the rift between them, you'd think that one would have driven the other out of the tiny English village of Earle, but if there was any similarity to be spoken of at all between them, it was their mutual and unearthly stubbornness. Each dogged in their ways and Hellbent on the unhappiness of the opposition, they'd been at it for so long that it couldn't be recalled what the actual conflict was. That's the way it had always been, and that's the way it would always be.

Yes, yes, even on Christmas.

And that is precisely when the Doctor just happened to discover the lustily warring nations.

It was Christmastime, and Earle, with festivities and good cheer circling like the clouds above, was hilt-deep into the bitter December. Snow was sparse, but the children made of it what they could: sloppy men of snow stood at attention in front yards and outside the little schoolhouse, coats and hats donated to them so graciously in order to protect them from the worsening weather. Forts had been constructed by the finest young architects, and battles fought between them. Angels fallen from Heaven Above were carved into the thin blanket above the dead grass and forgotten leaves of last autumn.

The air was thick with potential and falling snow, and it was apparent to the attentive observer that something momentous was to happen.

"Something momentous is to happen!" the Doctor shouted suddenly, startling Victoria and Jamie, who were standing on the side of the TARDIS console opposite him.

Looking more confused rather than concerned at the outburst, the two watched as he began to throw levers and make adjustments wildly on the TARDIS console, actions neither was unfamiliar with.

After a glance shared between Victoria and himself, Jamie took a step towards the old man, saying "Well, what d'you mean by that, Doctor?"

"Yes, something momentous is always on the brink of happening around here..." Victoria muttered good-naturedly.

"And it's the truth, Victoria!" the Doctor declared proudly. "Now, I can't be sure, but I thought I saw… Why yes, I'm getting a reading right now!" he paused, looking closely at the monitor before him. "Oh, this is a momentous occurrence indeed! Well, it will be, at least, some time from now. It is Christmas Eve, you know." He sighed, and looked at his companions. "I suppose that settles it, then. Earth, here we go! There's always something broken there, Earth, always something to fix…"

"Oi!" Jamie cried defensively, motioning to himself and Victoria. "We're from there, y'know!"

"Yes, well, I suppose it's not broken if it's your home, then, Jamie," was the Doctor's distracted reply, still tossing switches and pushing buttons.

"What is it this time, Doctor?" Victoria asked.

Rather than answering, the Doctor turned a final series of dials into place with a learned hand, then grasped a large handle firmly. He looked at them each in turn. "Best get your coats, friends!" he said with a brash grin. "This Christmas is going to be a bit colder than you're used to." With that, he slammed the lever into place, and a loud, glassy noise resounded through the controls room, followed by the familiar, piano-string, _vwworp_ing that signaled the ship's immersion in the Time Vortex.

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><p>While the weather outside had taken a turn for the worse, the atmosphere inside the house of the Cindres and the Ashes was as heated as ever. Punctuated with arguments across the stone wall separating the properties, the families allowed themselves no rest in the holiday season for stories told by candlelight, fires in hearths with hot mugs of tea in hand, and Christmas tree admiring. Near as could be to Christmas Day (the very Eve, in fact, of the same), and not an ounce of cheer was to be found in either household whenever the opposition was the topic of discussion or thought.<p>

Christmas or not, the feud obviously had to meet an end sooner or later, lest the participants destroy themselves entirely in their quest for vengeance.

It was then, just when he was most needed, that the Doctor arrived, with Jamie and Victoria in tow.

It was night time, long after sundown, and the large moon above lent a cold, glassy glow to the frozen landscape. The three peered out of the TARDIS carefully, unsure of what to expect, silent.

The Doctor emerged before his companions, straightening his jacket importantly. Victoria drew her coat nearer to her. "My, it is chilly, isn't it?" she said.

"Shhh!" the Doctor hushed her, whispering. "It's Christmas Eve, Victoria! We must use maximum concealment!"

"We'd hate to wake anyone," Jamie said under his breath, looking at the dim houses on either side of him and adjusting the round box he carried in his arms.

"Did you bring the parcels?" the Doctor asked, looking at Jamie and Victoria.

"Of course, Doctor," they each replied quietly.

"Good. Victoria?" he said to her. "Lead the way, if you would."

"Yes, Doctor." The odd little group stole away, then, into the night, guided only by streetlights and the plans they'd been over briefly in the TARDIS just minutes before.

When they came to two charming houses that looked nearly exactly alike, they stopped. The Doctor gave each a weighty glance, and, understanding instantly, Victoria and Jamie left him, approaching the brick houses silently. They disappeared from each other's view behind the heavy stone wall that divided the two lands, and the Doctor waited patiently for them to return.

"Now what, Doctor?" Victoria ask when the three had reunited.

"Now, my child, we return to the TARDIS." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Our work here is done. And just in time!"

Victoria and Jamie looked apt to protest the action, wanting to know just what was going on, but knew that all would be revealed in due time.

Later, back in the TARDIS console room again, after a brief silence, Jamie asked, "What did we give them, Doctor?"

"Ah, I thought you'd never ask. You see, I'm not fond of arguing, and neither is the TARDIS. That's why she brought us here: to finally put an end to a dispute that's gone on for far too long."

"Well, what was it?" Victoria asked, intensely curious.

"Let's just say…" a pause, "Christmas spirit," he replied simply.

"Oh, what, in a box?" Jamie asked, unable to imagine what could symbolise the spirit of Christmas _and _fit inside a hatbox.

"Precisely. I've never been fond of it, Christmas." The Doctor glanced at a monitor, somewhat distracted. "But you humans seem rather attached, so I thought we'd do a little holiday conflict resolving." He smiled warmly. "After all, you know, if entire armies can call a ceasefire to celebrate, then I don't see why anyone can't."


	3. Day Three

_Day Three_

**A/N from Brighter than sunflowers: "**On the Third Day of Whomas my true love gave to me… The UNIT family. I must admit that this story was semi-inspired by _Spice World_, which if you haven't seen, _seek it out and partake of the glory_. Make sure to check back tomorrow for my own installment starring the fourth Doctor." :D

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><p>"Well, I think that's everything, then," said a tall, dark haired man in a green suit. His voice was brisk and curt, but not unfriendly. It would be clear he was a soldier, even without the giveaway of the uniform.<p>

"Yes," said another man, older, sensible looking, apart from a ridiculous, frilled shirt. He didn't look up from the test tubes he was, at least seemingly involved in. "Thank you Brigadier."

"Are we free to head home?" A disembodied voice spoke; soon the figure of Sergeant Benton appeared.

"Yes," the Brigadier said, "Christmas, a well earned break." As if on cue, a young girl rushed into the room, her blonde hair flying about the place.

"Doctor!"

"Ah, hello Jo, what is it?"

"Look outside," she said in her signature excited manner. The Doctor rose from his chair and followed Jo to the frosted window.

"What in the blazes," he said. Curious, the Brigadier walked over to the window to join the Doctor and Jo.

"What on Earth...?" The Brigadier turned to the Doctor with a questioning look.

"No, definitely not something on Earth." The ground outside was covered with a thick, white power. More snow than London had seen in years.

"Brigadier," said Captain Yates, entering the room, "It's snowing."

"Yes, so we've seen."

"None of the cars can leave."

"Blast it!" The Brigadier turn quickly following Yates out of the room, Benton trailing along behind like some sort of lost puppy.

"What's going on Doctor?" asked Jo, once the three men left the room.

"I don't know. Maybe it's a Christmas miracle."

"I'm serious, Doctor. I've never seen this much snow in all my life put together! And this is all at once." Before the Doctor could answer, the Brigadier returned to the room, looking thoroughly put out.

"Not a single one of the cars will start. Even if they did, all the roads are closed."

"We'll just have to stay here until it clears up," said Sergeant Benton, appearing at the doorway.

"Oh no," said the Doctor looking up disappointedly at the UNIT operative.

"I'd almost say you didn't want any company, Doctor," said Jo, looking at her friend with amusement.

"Well, I can't say that I'm particularly happy, either," said the Brigadier, "But there's simply nothing to be done."

"There's always something to be done," said the Doctor, standing up. "That's my motto, come on Jo." He walked out the door with Jo trailing along behind.

The Brigadier sighed and folded his arms. Why he had ever hired such a troublesome scientific advisor was beyond him.

Within a few moments the Doctor and Jo returned with snow covering their hair and shoulders.

"Well?" Asked the Brigadier.

"There is nothing to be done," Said the Doctor taking a seat and picking his test tubes back up.

"Right," said the Brigadier with exasperation, turning as though to leave the room.

He was cut short, however, by a shattering crash which shook the building. Sirens began wailing, reverberating through the building. The Doctor stood quickly, walking towards the window.

"What is it Doctor?" Asked Jo.

"I don't know, I can't see through the snow." It was true, the white dust was falling even more quickly now, almost totally obscuring vision. Another crash followed by yelling. The Doctor, Jo, and the Brigadier moved to the door, completely in sync. The Brigadier placed a hand on his revolver, ready for action.

A small group of creatures appeared in front of them. Jo scrunched her nose. They were truly disgusting. Tall and skinny, with gray leathery skin and faces that looked as though they had been smushed together.

The two groups stared at each other for a moment, each apparently waiting for the other to speak. Finally the Doctor asked,

"What do you want?"

"Do they speak English?" Jo asked.

"Shh," the Doctor replied, not in the mood to explain the TARDIS translation circuit to her.

"We want," their voices were high and metallic sounding, "Christmas." The three UNIT employees looked at each other with confusion.

"How do you mean?" Asked the Doctor, trying to keep the calm.

"We have heard that this planet owns," the alien paused, the word was unfamiliar, "Christmas." The Doctor looked irritably at the Brigadier and Jo, as though simply by being human they had wrought this.

"Oh, you and your blasted holiday," said the Doctor, then addressing the aliens, "I'm afraid you've been rather misinformed. Christmas is holiday, a celebration, not a physical object to give." The aliens turned to look at each other.

"I told you!" One said.

"Well, I'm sorry," said another. Bickering, they turned away.

"Well," said the Brigadier, in a stunned voice. "That might just be the strangest thing that I have ever seen."

"Yes, their ship falling through the atmosphere must have disrupted something, that's what caused the snow."

"Can that happen?" asked Jo.

"I have absolutely no idea," said the Doctor smiling at his assistant, returning to his test tubes as though nothing had happened. All in a day's work.

"Well, we're still stuck here then," said the Brigadier.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Oh, it's not so bad," said Jo, "I'd sing you all a Christmas carol, only... I can't sing." The Doctor laughed,

"Yes, that would make it rather difficult."

"Well," said the Brigadier, "We must be grateful for small mercies."


	4. Day Four

_Day Four_

**A/N**: And here it is, the fourth day and the Fourth Doctor. Stick around for tomorrow's story, the fifth, featuring good old Peter Davison, as written by **Brighter than sunflowers**.

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><p>There she was, the old girl herself (no, not dear Sarah Jane, not this time): the mighty TARDIS, blue as ever, now covered in a fine layer of frost, which was beginning to melt as the sun rose higher in the sky. The doors creaked open, and a tall man in an impossibly long, oddly-patterned scarf and deep red coat – Christmas red, it could be claimed – stepped forward to lean against the doorframe. He placed a hat over his curly hair, folded his arms, and scowled deeply, as was his habit. He sighed heavily, breathing in the bitter London air and looking at the lively street with his brow furrowed. He watched. Observed. Noted. Learned.<p>

After what he deemed a sufficient amount of examination, rather bored of watching the people on James Street mill about, the Doctor removed himself from the eaves of his TARDIS. He pushed off onto the sidewalk, letting the doors close behind him, and engaged himself in the sparse clusters of humans. In their coats and stockings and gloves and hats and other winter wear, they carried on, each in their own ways, not noticing anything peculiar about the tall man, the Doctor, but for his eccentric clothing and wild eyes.

He studied them from within now: children clung to the hands of mothers and fathers, laughing, people flowed from and into and pubs like water, several people stood looking at a decorated fir tree, and a sort of pleasant quality was thick in the air.

He knew what day it was, of course. He'd meant to be exactly there and then, Londontown on Christmas Day. It was no mistake that he found himself now at the foot of a very large evergreen tree, strung almost haphazardly with little lights and ornaments of soldiers and ballerinas and stars and peppermints, though the scowl he wore would certainly lead one to believe that it was indeed not where he wanted to be at all. Eyes wide and focused, he investigated the "Christmas tree", trying to see in it what humans saw so plainly.

After looking it from the woody base to the star on the very top with immense scrutiny, he turned from it, deciding to try a different approach. He felt in his pocket for some change, and found several coins there. Check. He proceeded down the sidewalk again, walking farther away from the TARDIS than he would really like to be in a city setting such as this. After a time of this, he turned abruptly toward a site of interest on his right and into a man carrying a large box. "Oi, whatcha tryna pull there, Scrooge? It's Christmas, you know; watch where you're going!" he shouted, though the imbalance hardly inconvenienced him; the box remained firmly in his arms.

"Why's it always that? 'Scrooge'… I do wonder," he muttered after a handful of apologies to the man as he was drawn into the dim pub. He crossed to the counter and stood with an expression of distaste.

"What'll it be, pal?" the bartender asked him in a gruff voice. The Doctor looked at him, calculating. Then he brought his palm to the varnished wood countertop, the coins from his pocket making minimal noise.

"I'm here," the Doctor moved closer, "... for information," he said quietly, discreetly, leaning over the counter to whisper to him. He slid his hand across and withdrew it, leaving the money there. The bartender glanced down at it, then back at the Doctor.

"... Just what sort of information are ya looking for, eh?" He looked at him warily, not taking the coins.

"Tell me about Christmas. Why's it so bleeding _happy_?" the Doctor asked it as if he were desired a deadly secret.

The bartender feigned shock. "_Christmas_? I'm 'fraid there's not much I can tell you about that, sir." He eyed the few coins on the counter in front of him. "'Cept, of course, that it's top secret." He pocketed the money quickly, tapping his nose, and gave the Doctor a stern look. "You'd best be careful when asking about things like that. Happiness. Bah. It's the life of Old Ebenezer for me."

"Ah," the Doctor said quietly. "I see. Well, I'd thank you for your time, but this visit was less revealing than I'd hoped it to be. Also, I gave you all the money in my pocket with absolutely no gain. So. Farewell." He waved, turning, and the bartender went back to washing the countertop with a grimy rag.

Again amidst the curiously good cheer of James Street outside, the Doctor touched the brim of his hat, squinting at the people before him. He searched for common themes among them, calculated probabilities, scrutinised actions and reactions, and continued to be baffled by the general euphoria that was Christmas Day. He began to walk back to the TARDIS, his hands in his pockets and his eyes cast to the ground, thinking, thinking.

He unlocked the TARDIS and reclaimed his position in the doorway, leaning against the blue wood in thought, frowning.

As he withdrew into the time machine, he came to but one conclusion based on the research of the day:

That a day's worth of study and scientific analysis would provide no insight to the curious compulsions of the human mind; Christmas was Christmas and that was that.


	5. Day Five

_Day Five _

**A/N: **The Fifth Day of Whomas, with the Fifth Doctor. Make sure to come back tomorrow for my own story starring Colin Baker. ;D

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><p>"Ah, not Heathrow, again." The Doctor stepped out of the front doors of the TARDIS, deflating at the sight of a frosted town, rather than the gleaming floors of an airport.<p>

"Well, I can hardly say I'm surprised." said Tegan, following the man in the cricket outfit out the door.

"You have no faith, Tegan," said the Doctor emphatically, turning to his antipodean companion.

"Well, why would she?" Asked Turlough, joining them outside the TARDIS.

"Oh, well, yes, right you two can go off and be negative together. I, on the other hand am going to go have a look around this unusually usual place," with a tip of his white hat he set off down the street. Tegan and Turlough looked at each other, then followed Doctor down the street.

The Doctor was whistling to himself as the trio made their way down the street.

"Where are we then?" Asked Turlough.

"Earth definitely, probably London, I'd say sometime between 1901 and 1910."

"It's December," offered Tegan, pointing to one of the houses. Sure enough through one of the windows a tree ablaze could be seen.

"Indeed," said the Doctor, who by now had stopped volunteering his opinion of Christmas to his companions. It was much less effort that way.

The Doctor had barely resumed his tune when a cry shattered the frozen town.

"Murder! Murder!" The three occupants of the TARDIS stopped.

"You must do this on purpose," Tegan grumbled.

"Of course I don't," The words were hardly out of his mouth before he was running down the street towards the shouting man.

"What happened?"

"Are you the police?" the man asked.

"Yes, detective from Scotland Yard, what seems to be the problem?" The man didn't seem particularly convinced.

"Why are you dressed like a cricketer?" He asked as Tegan and Turlough rejoined him.

"Well, I wouldn't make a very good detective were I to dress like one, now would I? Everyone would know who I was then. These are my assistants by the way," the Doctor pointed at Tegan and Turlough, while Tegan mouthed the word "assistant" as though it left a bitter taste in her mouth. The man considered this, apparently finding a grain of truth, and continued.

"Someone's been murdered."

"So we've heard," said Turlough. The Doctor gave him a sharp stare before refocusing his attention on the man being questioned. He was not young, nor was he old, probably forty something. He was dressed in clothing that had once been posh, but was now worn with age.

"Well, I could smell something burning from upstairs, so I walked down to the servant's level to see what was going on," he paused, then said in a theatrical voice, "The cook was lying dead on the floor with a carving knife in her back and the pudding was boiling over."

"I assume you work at this house you were at?" The Doctor asked.

"'Aye, sir. I'm the Butler."

"Where is the rest of the household?"

"In the house, they sent me to find the police."

"I see. What was your name again?"

"Mr. Bloodworth, sir."

"Right then Mr. Bloodworth, my assistants and I will want to examine the body."

"Yes of course," he motioned for them to follow him into the grand manor house. Inside a young man and woman stood waiting anxiously right in front of the door.

"Lord and Lady Arrington, this a detective and his assistants from Scotland Yard, he's going incognito," he mumbled to them as they eyed the outfit questioningly. "He's agreed to help us."

"Thank you," the well dressed man began; he broke off questioningly.

"Just the Doctor will do.'

"Thank you, Doctor. This is a most terrible affair. And on Christmas Eve as well. My poor wife can hardly stand it." The woman nodded in stoic agreement with her husband.

"I think," she said, "I will retire." Lord Arrington followed quickly afterwards.

"Follow me, follow me," Mr. Bloodworth said leading them down the stairs. Sure enough a body laid on the floor, drawing all the attention in the room.

"That's horrible," said Tegan turning away, "I can hardly stand to look at it."

"It wasn't suicide I presume," said Turlough.

"No, no, it's rather hard for someone to stab themselves in the back. Impossible, even. What was her name?" he addressed Mr. Bloodworth.

"Mrs. Dedrick."

"Married then?"

"Her husband died five years ago."

"Any children?"

"Not that I know of."

"Can you say what time this death occurred?"

"There was a scream; it must have been, oh, 8:30 in the evening."

"Mr. Bloodworth, can you give me a list of everyone who was in the house at the time of this death?"

"'Aye I can, but I'm afraid it won't do you much good. There's Lord and Lady Arrington, the chauffeur, Mr. Crewe, the scullery maid, Miss Fawkins, the valet Mr. Eldridge, and the ladies maid, Miss Godfrey. "

"And none have them have been seen with blood on their hands or anything like that?" Mr. Bloodworth looked at him with some disappointment.

"Well, we wouldn't need to hire a detective were that the case."

"No," said the Doctor, standing. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. May I talk with my assistants in private for a moment, please?"

"Yes of course, sir." Mr. Bloodworth bowed and sidled out of the room.

"We'll need to interview everyone," the Doctor said matter of fact-ly.

"You love this, don't you?" said Tegan with some amusement.

"Well, I always thought that were I not wandering the universe I would be a private detective."

"Won't you get in trouble for impersonating a detective?" she asked.

"No of course not. I do it all the time."

"Oh, that makes me feel better."

"Turlough, you take the valet and butler, Tegan, Lord Arrington and the ladies maid, I'll take Lady Arrington, the chauffeur and the scullery maid," the Doctor directed. "Meet back here in a half hour."

A half hour later the three companions rejoined.

"Well?" Asked the Doctor.

"Well nothing," said Tegan, "Everyone has an alibi."

"Same with me," answered Turlough. "The valet was with Lord Arrington. As soon as he finished with him, he and the butler were engaged in conversation up until the cook was killed."

"The ladies maid was with Lady Arrington and Lord Arrington was with the valet, like Turlough said."

"I'm the same. The ladies maid was with Lady Arrington, the chauffeur was in the garage and the scullery maid was with him."

"Well that gets us absolutely nowhere," Tegan said, in a voice that very clearly said, "I'm giving up".

"Brave heart, Tegan," said the Doctor, "Have you not read any Agatha Christie? We just have to find the lying one now."

"The lying one?" questioned Turlough.

"Yes, you know about that, don't you, Turlough," the Doctor quipped, while Turlough fixed him with an icy stare.

"How exactly do you propose to do that?" Asked Tegan.

"I have actually been round the block a few times you know."

"I few hundred times," added Turlough.

"Yes, thank you. I can actually tell when someone is lying to me. Tegan, go and get the ladies maid." A few moments later Tegan returned with a young, blonde woman following timidly behind her.

"Miss Godfrey, correct?" Asked the Doctor.

"Yes," she said succinctly.

"You say that you were with your lady at the time of the murder."

"Yes."

"Why are you lying?"

"What?" she asked, taken aback, "I'm – I'm not lying."

"Accessory to murder, that's not a good thing…" The Doctor trailed off, his voice was not unkind, but it was not friendly either. The young girl trembled, the tears welling up in her eyes became visible.

"Go and get Lady Arrington," the Doctor commanded in a softer tone. She nodded quickly and fled from the room. In another instant Lady Arrington appeared, looking as stoic as she had done the first time they had seen her.

"How do you do, Lady Arrington?" The Doctor asked.

"Much the same as a few moments ago, when I spoke to you before."

"Good, good," the Doctor said absently. "Lady Arrington have you any idea why someone would want to kill Mrs. Dedrick?"

"No."

"Really? I have a few ideas myself would you like to hear them?"

"No."

"Well, it didn't really matter what you said because I'm going to tell you anyways." He put on the horn rimmed spectacles that he didn't really need. "Maybe she knew something. Knew something about someone that would ruin their reputation." He watched the Lady closely. "Maybe they killed someone, or were involved in an affair."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave my home, Doctor." She spit his name out with contempt.

"Or stole something? Yes, that's it. Stole something. Money? Jewels? Oh dear. And the cook found out." The woman was turning white as sheet. Lord Arrington appeared from behind the door, where he had apparently been listening.

"I – I," she stumbled over her words for the first time, "I had to."

"How did you know that?" Turlough asked the Doctor quietly as Lady Arrington made desperate attempts to justify her actions.

"Guessing, until I found the right thing. People always crack when you tell them the truth." The Doctor stood uprightly and interrupted Lady Arrington.

"I suggest, my Lord, that you contract the police immediately."

"I thought you were the police."

"Not the kind that can arrest people." The Lord regarded him strangely for a moment, then turned and left followed by Lady Arrington.

"Doctor," said the butler, "you have been a great help to us. Please, stay for dinner this Christmas Eve."

"Oh, no, that's alright," said the Doctor backing away from the man slowly as though he were a time bomb about to go off. "I don't do Christmas. Tegan,Turlough, come one.

Without another word they sprinted from the house. The butler left watching the three strange detectives disappear into the Christmas night.


	6. Day Six

_Day Six_

**A/N:** Here's the Sixth Day of Christmas with the Sixth Doctor by yours truly; tomorrow we've got Day Seven with Sylvester McCoy by Brighter than sunflowers. Stick around. ;)

* * *

><p>The Doctor marched into the console room one day looking for Peri. He'd been researching the anatomy of Earth's great <em>Rosalia opalus<em>, a large beetle with peculiar antennae and a transcendental shimmer that he was almost certain was an effect of early Jurassic extraterrestrial visitation. He became confused, however, when he heard a curiously pleasant tune coming from somewhere near the controls.

He scrunched up his face, disapproving. He knew Peri to be rather festive, especially with her American tendencies, but she'd thus far refrained from tainting the peace and quiet of the console room with her _joy_ and _merrymaking_. He found her leaning over the console itself, her elbows angled around levers and buttons and other mechanisms, unaware of his presence. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed content, lost in thought.

Well, it had to end sooner or later, the Doctor reasoned, and he wanted to track down _Rosalia opalus_ during the time of its origin and determine exactly what element had been incorporated into its chemistry to produce its otherworldly lustre.

'No better time than the present,' he'd once heard someone say. Kingston? No, Byng. Ah, Kingsley, maybe… No matter.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Peri?" he exclaimed, waving at the white room. "What's all this? Where's that blasted music coming from? The TARDIS is not a record player, you know."

"Oh, Doctor, it's Christmas!" she said, not answering any of his questions and not at all surprised by his outburst.

"Christmas? That's absurd. It's not Christmas. This is a time machine. There are no holidays." He scowled, crossing to the console and beginning to put in coordinates.

"You're just bitter 'cause nobody's ever gotten you a Christmas present," Peri quipped, her nose upturned.

"Untrue. I was once given a very useful pair of pyranometers in a rather dire situation one Christmas."

Peri was unconvinced. "But I'm sure they weren't _gifts_," she said.

The Doctor rested his hand on a lever, hesitating. "Were so. Well, I might have taken them without asking, but as I have already established, it was a _dire situation_, with extreme circumstances."

"Now _that's_ absurd. Doctor, I'm going to get you a Christmas present."

"No, you're not; I won't accept it."

"Oh, come on, Doc. Let me get you a Christmas present. What do you want?"

He ignored her question entirely. "We're going to examine the _Rosalia opalus_ beetle in the Jurassic period of Earth and learn its aesthetic science."

She ignored him in turn, speaking to herself out loud: "Ah, what to get a person with a time machine? I'll bet you're a difficult man to shop for," she laughed.

"I'm not," he said. "Now, I'd bring galoshes if I were you, but you're welcome to be miserable if you'd like. The jurassic period tends to displease you humans with the terrain," he muttered almost to himself. "How do you get this blasted music off?" he added, looking about at the ceiling, the console, the floor for an answer.

"Doctor," Peri said firmly, looking at him hard. "It would mean something to me if you'd let me get you a Christmas present. Drop me off in New York or someplace with some money. What should I look for?"

"Nothing."

"But Doctor -"

"I want to play chess."

"... What?"

"_Chess_, Peri, the board and pieces are down the hall; we'll just postpone this _massive scientific discovery_ that could alter the fate of humanity irreparably thousands of years in the future. Yes, we'll just delay the potential salvation of your people for a bleeding _game of chess_! That's what I want for Christmas!"

His sarcasm failed to discourage her, though his crossness displeased her. "Oh, hush, Doctor; it won't take but a minute. I'm terrible at chess. You'll have me beat in no time." She ran from the room and into a corridor in the labyrinth of the TARDIS.

"Don't you let me win, Peri; that's no fun at all!" he called after her. He looked at the console disappointedly and cleared the coordinates he'd inputed. They'd get to it later, he supposed.

Less than an hour later, the Doctor and Peri sat in one of the TARDIS tea rooms across from each other with a cup of earl grey apiece and scowls fixed upon their faces. They leant over the coffee table before them in turn, silent, trying to predict the other's next manoeuvre and thwart them before they themselves were trapped in an unforeseen scheme.

Each fought valiantly, and the game was indeed over in a timely matter, but it ended, with a curt "Checkmate," from Peri accompanied by a gloriously smug expression and nothing but a small noise of outrage from the Doctor.

His eyes were wide, and his hands hovered over the board, not touching the pieces, finally seeing the fatal error that Peri had taken the opportunity to capitalise upon. "But -"

"Merry Christmas, Doctor," the girl cut him off as she stood to leave. She smiled down at him as he continued to stare with incredulity at the gameboard.

"But I -" he stammered.

"Weren't there some beetles you wanted to look at?"

"Yes, but you -"

"I'll get my galoshes, then."

And with that, she left him alone to put his head in his hands and rub his eyes in dismay.

"... Merry, Christmas, Perpugilliam," he muttered after she'd gone.


	7. Day Seven

_Day Seven _

**A/N: **Welcome to day seven of Whomas, as told by the dear **Brighter than sunflowers**. Make sure you check back tomorrow for my own story featuring the wonderful Eighth Doctor. :D

* * *

><p><em>Click Clack Clang Clang Clickity Clang Clack <em>

"Professor," said a brunette teenager wearing a leather jacket.

"Yes, Ace?" The short man ceased his tapping of spoons to look at his young companion.

"Do you think you could stop that for a minute?"

"I'm only playing the spoons."

"Yes, I can see you're playing the spoons, but do you think you could stop for a minute? It's getting on my nerves."

"Getting on your nerves? Getting on your nerves? Why Ace, playing the spoons is a valuable skill. You should watch, you might learn something." With that, he continued clapping the spoons rhythmically. Ace rolled her eyes.

"I'm not an idiot you know Professor." She snatched the spoons out of his hand.

"Oi!" The young girl began clicking the utensils. "I didn't know you could play the spoons," the Doctor said in a voice that sounded as though he was trying very hard not to be impressed.

Ace gave him a look that very clearly said, 'you never asked' and continued to pound away.

"Guess the song, Professor."

"Ace, the spoons are just a rhythm, I can't guess the song."

"You're just cross because there's something you don't know. It's _We Wish you a Merry Christmas_."

"Oh."

"Oh? What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, well I have never been the biggest fan of Christmas."

"Never been the biggest fan of Christmas? Professor, what's wrong with you? You seem like the sort of fellow who would love Christmas."

"You're not the first to have said that. I don't know, I just don't understand the affection you humans have for the 25th of December." Ace pulled a face at the 'you humans' generalisation.

"I've always quite liked Christmas," she said, then leaning in close , she whispered as though she was revealing a terrible secret, "I mostly just liked the gifts, though. Don't tell anyone."

"My lips are sealed."

"It was always really exciting to open presents on Christmas Day," she reminisced fondly. The Doctor smiled as well, it wasn't often that his young companion spoke of her home life in a positive manner. "I don't suppose you had that where you're from. That must have been terrible."

"I pulled through," the Doctor said in a sarcastically melodramatic voice. Snatching the spoons back from Ace, he continued to play away while she watched him, deep in thought.

* * *

><p>The next morning the Doctor wandered about the console room, deciding where he could take Ace when she awoke. So many things to show her, so many things to teach her…<p>

His eyes alighted on a small package, which appeared to be held together with an exorberant amount of duct tape. Written in slanted handwriting on the top was the inscription,

_To The Professor _

_From Ace _

With the help of a pair of scissors the Doctor managed to open it. He laughed aloud when his alighted on the gift.

Inside was a silver canister of Nitro-9.


	8. Day Eight

_Day Eight_

_25 December, the twentieth century. The 14th arrondissement of Paris, France on Earth. Gassendi Street: An hour's walk west of the River Seine._

* * *

><p>The buildings were old, the architecture intricate, the air crisp, and the people as French as ever. It was Christmas Eve, and the Doctor had been hoping to return a book to the library Georges Brassens, but alas, it was closed for the holidays. He supposed it would be late now, and he would have to pay a fine as penalty. Come to think of it, it might actually already be overdue… He couldn't remember the exact day he'd checked the book out, but it was surely some time ago. No matter. He'd just come back sometime when the library was open.<p>

He began to find his way back to the TARDIS, which he'd left a short distance away in front of a small cafe. He idly studied the cover of the book that he'd failed to return, a thin novel with a plain, textured cover. The next time he looked up, there she was, his big blue box, the TARDIS. Quickly unlocking the doors and stepping inside, he cringed as he remembered what the Master had done to her interior: the console room transformed into a throne room, the Eye of Harmony opened, the energy drain she'd undergone… it had been horrific.

He shivered as he approached the controls, trying to remember the coordinates of that planet, that planet he'd visited long ago, the one with the blue people and the black market… Oh, what was it?

There was a knock on the door of the TARDIS, which, of course, could only mean one of two things: either attack or surrender. Each was equal reason for preparation.

He reached into his jacket pocket and quickly withdrew his sonic. He crept toward the doors, ducking under the metal legs that stretched from floor to ceiling in the new console room. He held the screwdriver behind his back, standing to the side of the doors, cautious, suspicious. Carefully, he eased one door open, peering out. What greeted him, however, was neither an attack nor a surrender.

Four children were before him. Two boys and two girls, each no more than twelve, stood with a mixture of dirt and joy and sincerity upon their faces, dressed in ragged clothing that was much too large for them and hardly enough for the season, singing. They sang beautifully despite their dishevelled state, an old carol known to him through his companions' enthusiasm, and, for the first time, it touched him deeply. They sang it in their language, in the delicate tones of French, and the TARDIS didn't even bother to translate it, perhaps understanding that it was more poetic this way, more moving.

_Douce nuit, sainte nuit!  
>Dans les cieux! L'astre luit.<br>Le mystère annoncé s'accomplit.  
>Cet enfant sur la paille endormit,<br>C'est l'amour infini,  
>C'est l'amour infini!<em>

They sang "Silent Night", and it was marvellous. Finally, _finally_, he saw it: the human obsession with Christmas, the adoration, the thing he had formerly deemed so illogical and ridiculous for so many years, so superfluous and unnecessary. He saw it with new eyes, with an open mind, and as he looked at the group of patched, thin children, it brought tears to his eyes. "My dears…" he said, falling to his knees. "Oh, you are angelic." He dragged a hand across his face as they sung, finding a stray tear there, cold against his skin.

"Thank you," he said when they were finished. "Oh, thank you so much. I understand. I _understand_! I finally understand…" They looked past him, seeing the interior of the TARDIS, and their eyes widened. He noticed their reaction to the impressive sight of the console room and at once said, "Won't you come in? Please, it's Christmas, come in and warm yourselves; you look cold."

The children did not argue, did not say a thing in response to his invitation, but followed him graciously in the TARDIS. Perhaps they should not have trusted an oddly-dressed stranger in a blue police box that was not actually a blue police box so readily, but, given, the stranger did look rather like a living rendition of Jesus Christ himself, so it might be said that the scene agreed the holiday fairly well.

The Doctor led the quartet about the console room happily, showing them the controls and the numerous buttons and levers and other methods of input that he loved so fondly, and they watched with wide eyes, saying nothing. After a brief tour and several lengthy explanations, the Doctor sent the children on their way with a couple of things he found about the TARDIS: several blankets, a handful of jelly babies, and a Christmas cracker for each (it was Melanie, he thought, who must have left them there).

Finally, he thanked them fully and sincerely for their beautiful carolling, and sent them on their way. As they were leaving, he looked after them from the TARDIS, leaning against the doorway. The littlest one turned around after a moment and said, "Thank you, sir," so quietly that it might not have been heard had the Doctor not been watching the four walk away.

He smiled in response, an overwhelming warmth filling him from the bottom of his hearts that he had not felt in all of his years of life, in all of his regenerations, and he decided with finality, once and for all, that perhaps Christmas was not such a _human _idea after all.


	9. Day Nine

_Day Nine_

"So, where are we going next?" The young, blonde girl asked with enthusiasm, typical to those who had recently joined the Doctor in his travels. The man clad in a leather jacket didn't respond, instead he continued punching in coordinates and twisting knobs on the TARDIS console.

Rose walked up behind him, tilting her head so her hair fell over one shoulder and biting her lip.

"I said, where are we going?"

"Why don't you take a look for yourself?" The Doctor straightened up and nodded his head towards the door. "You'll want a coat." Smiling, Rose ran towards the door (grabbing a coat that lay discarded on the floor from their last adventure) and flung it open. The Doctor smiled to himself as he heard an audible intake of breath.

"In the year 5184, the human race truly surpassed itself," the Doctor commented, walking across the room to stand by Rose.

"You can say that again."

"It's Christmas Eve out there."

"Can we go outside and look around?" she asked, in a voice of true awe.

"No, I brought you here to stand in the doorway." Rose rolled her eyes and stepped outside regardless of her friend's sarcasm.

The village square looked as though all the stars in the sky had descended and landed on top of the roofs. Lights in all colours blazed everywhere. Somewhere a choir was singing; the chords of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen filled the air. It was even snowing picturesquely, dusting the ground with a white film. It was Christmas, raised to the 100th degree.

Rose wrapped her pink coat more tightly around her and made her way down the street, with the Doctor trailing along behind, lost in his own thoughts.

It was so long, so long now that he'd been travelling on his own. So many years, filled with so many horrors. But here he was now. Christmas. With her, the young woman blinking in the sunlight of a new world she was seeing for the first time. Through her, he could see it again too. The beauty, the wonder of it all. She was the ointment for his battle scars, not that she could ever know that, of course.

"Doctor," Rose grabbed his hand and pulled him with all the force she had towards a particular shop that rather looked like a candy cane had exploded on the exterior.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." The café had a total of one option: Cocoa. The Doctor and Rose both ordered and sat in one of the shockingly red booths.

"What is this place?" Asked Rose, sipping from the mug and immediately recoiling, due probably, to the heat of the beverage.

"I told you, 5184. This city was transformed into a real winter wonderland, the cooperation it took was monumental, still it was worth it. This year is generally considered as the best Christmas ever. Well, apart from the original that is."

"Very funny."

"I mean it, I was there."

"900 years, is there anywhere you haven't been?"

"Well, I never came here before now. Can check that one off the list."

"The best Christmas ever? How could you resist that? If I had a time machine, I think I'd make every day Christmas."

"Don't you think that would spoil it?"

"No," said Rose, laughing at the very idea.

"Alright then," said the Doctor, drinking out of his own mug. Rose leaned back, brushing her bleached hair behind her ears.

"My mum makes the best Christmas dinner. You should join us sometime."

"Ah, no."

"Come on, it'd be great."

"I told you I don't do families. And anyways I don't think your mum would want me there. Have you forgotten already? She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you."

"She slapped me, or is that just her way of saying hello?"

"Shut up," she paused, "What about you, on your planet, did you have any holidays?"

"No." The answer said, very clearly, "I don't want to talk about it." Nevertheless, Rose remained undeterred.

"You celebrate Christmas though, tell me about that then."

"Blimey, you're a nosy one aren't you?" Rose simply sipped her cocoa and waited for a response. "Alright," the Doctor said, sounding half annoyed and half flattered. "I've resolved a feud between neighbours, stopped an alien invasion, investigated a murder and lost a game of chess."

"All in one day?"

"No, lots of different days." Rose laughed at his exasperated voice. "In all honesty," he continued, "I was coerced into all of that, I wasn't really fond of the holiday up until recently."

"So this is a new experience for you?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes." She grinned, for some reason he couldn't shake the thought that if the holiday of Christmas could be embodied, she would look exactly Rose.

A small waiter dressed head to toe in Christmas colours and donning a moustache that would rival that of Hercule Poirot.

"Your bill, Sir," he said handing a slip of paper to the Doctor. The Doctor looked at it as though it were a repulsive alien. He turned to Rose,

"Um, have you got any money?"

"No," she said in a voice that was very clearly irked.

"Well," he said addressing the waiter, "It appears that I am, temporarily broke. Will an IOU do?"

"No," the man remained stoically un-amused. The Doctor turned to Rose,

"Run." The couple stood and pushed through the crowds of people towards the exit while the angry waiter chased after them yelling obscenities.

Finally, they burst through the exit and continued running off through the streets.


	10. Day Ten

_Day Ten_

The day had so far been pleasant enough, given that no unexpected trips to the moon had yet been made, and no intelligent rhinoceri had taken any hospitals captive even relatively in the vicinity of where they'd parked the TARDIS. That explained, it was a rather docile atmosphere that had taken hold of the time machine. Incredibly, horribly, unbearably, stupidly _boring_, the Doctor was thinking, but docile enough.

With the tension of docility contrasting the storm of the Doctor's disquiet, it was only fitting that he should announce, "Why, Martha Jones, I think it's Christmas Eve."

Martha looked around the TARDIS in confusion and replied, "Ah, no, Doctor, it's not exactly…"

The Doctor was resolute. "Oh, but _Martha_, it is." He got that wild look in his eye, inputting coordinates and information and commands into the console rapidly, grinning.

"No, I don't think it is… This is a time machine; don't you always say that 'there are no holidays on a time machine'?"

"Well, I guess that means we don't have to wait for the seasons to change to bust out the old Christmas tree, eh?" He was somewhat distracted, programming the TARDIS flight path. "Let's go somewhere."

Martha gripped her jacket and tilted her head to the side, mildly interested, remembering holidays spent with her family long ago. "Hm. Like where?"

"Well, as rumour would have it," he said smugly, "word around the TARDIS is that you played a little bit of the trumpet when you were younger, is that -?"

Martha, obviously disturbed that he would know such a thing, exclaimed "_Now just where did you hear that_?! Oh, _God_, Doctor, you didn't -"

"No, no, no, _no_, Martha, even I have more boundaries than that!" the Doctor reassured her. Then, he muttered, "Your mother told me."

"She - _oh_, she _promised_ she wouldn't tell anyone! That was horrible; it was only three lessons, for God's sake. You'd think she'd let it lie, but -"

"What I was _trying_ to suggest, Martha, is that we should see a play. Or an orchestra. A performance. People do that at Christmas, and it's Christmas, and I think we should watch _The Nutcracker_, personally, but I'm open to suggestions." He adjusted a few dials on the console while Martha considered it.

"Why?" she finally said.

"Why what?" the Doctor questioned.

"Why now? Are you going to die? Am _I _going to die? Doctor, if you're already aware, I'd like to know if I'm going to die."

"No, of course not. I'm just in the Christmas spirit. Aren't you? Martha, it doesn't work if you're not in the Christmas spirit. Then it's just bland. Like celery. _Well_…" He shook his head, making a face and sticking out his tongue. "Acgh, no, look I've nearly ruined Christmas for myself just thinking about it."

"Hey, I like celery!" Martha protested.

"Oh, that explains a lot," the Doctor quipped under his breath.

"_Oi_!" She hit his arm lightly. Then she straightened, squaring her shoulders decidedly. "Fine. Fine, _Doctor_. We'll go to a ballet. We'll sit through _The Nutcracker_ for Christmas because that's what you do at Christmas, and you can look at _all the people in tights_ and tell me again how much fun it is to watch performances."

The Doctor looked delighted, and he ignored her sarcasm. "Fine indeed! Go! Go change!

"Right now?"

"Yes, yes, right now, when _else _would we go? This is a _time machine_ after all; we haven't got a second to lose! Put on something nice!" Martha laughed as she dashed from the room. "I'm wearing brown!" he called after her. "You'd better not match me, or one of us will have to change, and it's not going to be me!"

He straightened his tie in the reflection of a monitor and brushed off some hardly detectable lint from his brown pinstripe suit. He pulled on his long overcoat, pondering something Martha had said just now.

Would Martha die someday while travelling with him? Or would he leave her somewhere? Earth? Or would _she_ leave _him_? The possibilities horrified him. What a shame it would be to lose such a bright, passionate companion as she.

He moved to a more pressing, though less weighty thought: when to visit? And _where_? He thought a moment, then quickly typed in the coordinates into the TARDIS locational divisor, shooting for a pleasant 1900 time frame in Russia. He always did like original versions better than adaptations. He sent the TARDIS into flight, the much-adored _vworping_ filling the console room.

Shortly after landing, Martha reappeared looking ravishing in Christmas red. She glared at him for not changing while she was told in so many words to do so, but the scowl disappeared when he offered her his arm. She smiled, and he led the way out of the front doors and into the cold Siberian air.


	11. Day Eleven

_Day Eleven_

Happy crying, human-y wuman-y. The Doctor smiled, as he shut the bright blue door to the Pond's house. Quickly he composed himself, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes before following Amy and Rory into their dining room. Admittedly, he hadn't ever actually been inside the house, despite being the one who purchased it. The family who had lived there before had gone and won the lottery. Amazing.

It was a nice house, decorated to the nines with garlands, baubles, tinsel, poinsettias, Amy had certainly found herself with a lot of time on her hand recently. Rory fiddled with some lights that seemed to have gone out by the window, while Amy absently straightened the silverware. "We set a place for you... Because we always do." It had of course been Amy's idea. Little Amelia Pond, always holding out hope that he would arrive, albeit a few years late. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to trust him so implicitly, he definitely didn't deserve it.

"Um," Amy said to the Doctor, with the tone of one admitting something. "We won't be having a proper Christmas dinner."

"She burned the chicken," Rory said, turning away from the lights.

"I didn't," Amy argued, "Well," She conceded under the look Rory was giving her, "I did, but it wasn't my fault."

"Yeah," Rory said slowly, "it was. It was pretty much totally your fault."

"Stop blaming, it's Christmas you know," Amy said in mock exaggeration, throwing her hands in the air and marching from the room. Rory trailed along after her, the sight of it made the Doctor smile. Nothing ever changed.

"Hello Sweetie." The Doctor gasped and fell back against the wall. The curly haired woman laughed at him. "Sorry honey, didn't mean to scare you."

"River," he said regaining his balance, "what are you doing here?" he whispered.

"Having Christmas dinner with my parents. What do you think?"

"Well, they didn't tell me you were here."

"They should just get a big bold banner that says 'River is here' and hang it up any time I come over. That way you could always know, right?"

"Do not be so sarcastic, River," he reprimanded.

"Me? Sarcastic? Never." The Doctor rolled his eyes at his wife, she smiled in response and stepped closer to him.

"Anyways, aren't you going to wish me a Merry Christmas?" River asked.

"Merry Christmas," the Doctor responded absently. Realisation stuck a moment later and he grabbed her hand which somehow seemed to have wandered up to his bowtie.

"No," he said firmly, placing her hand back down at her side.

"Spoilsport." It was River's turn to roll her eyes as Amy and Rory reappeared, holding, not a turkey, but a plateful of sandwiches. River bit back a smile, but Amy saw right through her with an icy glare.

"Christmas dinner," said Rory as though he was a magician revealing some spectacle.

"I am sorry," said Amy setting the sandwiches down at the four place sets, "That I am not a professional cook. Since you two apparently are, you can be in charge of cooking next year. I am fine with that."

"I think it looks wonderful, Amelia," said the Doctor.

"You are so full of it," River muttered to him as they took their seats.

"So," Amy said, "What have you been doing for two whole years without us?"

"Well, I just saved a pilot. Also some tree people."

"And then you just decided to stop by here, two years after you told us you were dead?"

"Amy," he said as though he was revealing some great and terrible secret, "I am not very good at timing."

"I know," she said, smiling.

"The wife of the pilot I saved, she ordered me not to spend Christmas on my own. So I figured here would be a good place to start." Amy's eyes glowed with pride, knowing the she and her family were at the top of the Time Lord's list.

* * *

><p>After dinner Rory and River were thoroughly engrossed in a card game. However, both were such prolific cheaters, that neither of them were making any progress. Amy and the Doctor were sitting on the couch watching (but not really watching) the television.<p>

"I'm glad you came," Amy said suddenly. The Doctor, looked at her, surprised by the sudden outburst. "Last year," she continued, "I was so sure that you'd come; you love Christmas and you wouldn't make us have Christmas without you."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said with averted eyes. He absolutely did not deserve Amelia, or her patience. If she had any sense at all she would have kicked him to the curb the first time they met.

"It's alright," Amy said smiling in a way that made him feel as though he had done her no wrong. Which in turn made him feel guilty. My, he was a rollercoaster today. "I was just afraid, that you wouldn't turn up again. I'm glad you did."

"I'm glad I did too," he said smiling, "Christmas alone is no good." She nodded in agreement.

"You should be with your family." The Doctor glanced around the room, the woman with the insane hair and personality, the steady soldier and his fiery wife. His family.

A new adventure.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "Merry Christmas, Amy," he said kissing the top of her forehead lightly.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."


	12. Day Twelve

_Day Twelve_

He stood there in his magician's outfit outside Clara's classroom door, carefully considering the amount of civility he should use: wait until she was done teaching for the day? No, he'd never done that before; no point in starting now. March in and demand that she come with him? Disrupt her class? No, no, she would dislike that. Though, she wasn't fond of many things he did these days, always something setting her off… Perhaps it wouldn't matter how he acted; she would be displeased no matter what.

That was a rather nice thought, actually. Now he could stop trying to be so bleeding nice all the time.

Well. Nothing wrong with encouraging her to start her Christmas break a little bit early.

Tossing caution asunder and whipping open the door extravagantly and with no niceness to be spoken of, the Doctor found Clara Oswald in her element. Her class before her and a chalkboard behind her, Clara was mid-sentence, reading aloud from a slim novel called _Matilda_ when the Doctor burst through the door. "Clara, I –" He stopped himself, looking at the class. She froze in shock, gripping the book tighter. He seemed almost surprised to find a class there, in the classroom, but he quickly continued, whispering loudly, as if not to be heard by the children. "Clara, Clara, it's time to go! We must move quickly; we have to go right now."

Clara's shock melted into mild fury. She approached him, glancing at her class in embarrassment. "Doctor, what are you doing? I told you to stop _bothering_ me at _school_!" She further lowered her voice, covering her mouth with a hand. "You have a _time machine _for God's sake; can't you make yourself a little more convenient?"

The Doctor's urgency was unsuppressed. "But Clara, this is an _emergency_! What are you reading?" He peered at the book, which Clara had left on the high stool, suddenly highly distracted. He shook his head. "No matter, no matter! Clara, I need you to come with me _right now_!"

"Doctor, school's out in no time, and then it's Christmas break until January. _Please_, can it wait two hours?"

"No! _Absolutely _not!"

Clara's class had begun to whisper amongst themselves, looking at the familiar strange man that might have once been the school's caretaker. She pleaded, "Listen, Doctor. Go back to the TARDIS, waltz through the doors, programme the console, and come back _precisely_ two hours from now. Just type it in, and I'll be here."

"But Clara –"

"Go!" she almost shouted. "I'm busy!" She began to push him out the door despite his protests ("But, Clara, this is _important_!"). He began to understand, to take the hint. He turned to leave. "Two hours, Doctor! Two hours!" she whispered down the hallway after him.

Her class met her with unsure laughter when she returned. She straightened herself, smoothing her plaid skirt, and picked up _Matilda_ again. She encountered difficulty in finding her place again. She cleared her throat, looking pointedly, teacherly at her class. "Now. Sorry about that. Where were we?" She continued reading.

The Doctor flew to the TARDIS, taking Clara's advice, and quickly inputted the spacial coordinates for the exact current location, but two hours later. He pulled a lever, there was the glorious sound of TARDIS flight, and he arrived at what was hopefully a more acceptable time.

There was only one way to find out.

He fought through the throngs of children that were now flowing from the school, caps and gloves and jackets all firmly in place. Going the direction opposite of the vast majority of the crowd of schoolchildren, the Doctor seemed largely out of place.

This time, when he burst through her classroom door for a second time, she was looking closely at a stack of theme papers, a red pen in hand, trying to get some grading done before the holidays truly began.

"Clara!" he shouted without restraint. "Let's _go_! Aren't you ready yet? Did I get the time right? Can we _go_ now?"

Clara glanced at the clock on the wall above the door casually. "Oh…" she smiled. "I suppose so." She jumped up from her desk, tossing her coat over her arm and quickly gathering her things. She locked her classroom door and promised Danny Pink that she would be back for their date that night, but she was going somewhere just then. The Doctor rolled his eyes as she did so, looking impatient.

Once back in the TARDIS, the Doctor, true to his nature, began to reprogramme the machine to a place unknown to Clara. "So where are we going, Doctor? What sort of mysterious, emergency excursion are we off to this time?" she asked good-naturedly. "Somewhere Christmassy?"

The Doctor cringed, bitterly remembering Christmas the town, where he'd met his eleventh end.

"We're taking a trip, Clara, a dangerous trip. You'd best start preparing for the worst." The Doctor was distracted by the console, typing on meaningless boards and pushing extraneous buttons that made him feel important.

Clara laughed, unsure of whether she should take him seriously or not. His tone made her nervous, but the way he was accenting his controls-managing with a flourish made her think that maybe he was exaggerating. "Um, ha ha, what sort of trip, Doctor?" she said with mild trepidation. "Not some sort of human sacrifice, right? Not a blood ritual or anything?"

"Well, I suppose some sacrifice will be required, and possibly a bit of comfort as well (the shoes never seem to fit quite right, even if they _say_ they're your size), but I'd like to think that it's rather more enjoyable than bleeding a goat over a fire at midnight on the Eve of Christmas. We could do that, too, if you want, but we've got to hurry off to this first."

Clara was rather alarmed now. "Ah, Doctor, I knew this would happen! I know you'd end up being a psychopath or some sort of villain or _criminal_, and –"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Clara, _relax_! It's just _ice skating_; I'm sure even _you _can manage to enjoy that, can't you?" He peered at a monitor closely.

Clara blinked. Her mouth parted in surprise. "... _Ice skating_, did you say? Like on _ice_? Like on _Earth_? Like in the _winter_?"

"Yes, yes, Clara, and we haven't time to lose!" He swung about to look at her clearly, flinging his arms into the air in triumph. "Now, do you have skates with you or shall we rent some? Wear thick socks; besides the blisters you're bound to get, Vancouver's hellish in a chilly sense at Christmastime, and my favourite rink's outdoors."

"Canada?" Clara felt the need to clarify, not wanting to construct a false hope. "We're going to _Canada_? To go ice skating?"

The Doctor feigned offence. "What, do you have something against –"

A new light lit in Clara's eyes. "When? Well, right now, obviously, but what time period, I mean? My time? The past? The future? I've always wanted to go to Canada. Not during the winter, that does sound horrible, but Vancouver's always seemed nice. They had the Olympics there, you know, Doctor."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, bored. He pulled a lever, sending the TARDIS into flight. "Yes, Clara, I was there."

"What?! You _were_?" Why didn't you take me? We have to go back!"

"Not now, not now, I already told you, we're going ice skating! Put your coat on; we're nearly there, Clara. Do you know how to ice skate? Because I don't, and I think I'll need some instruction."

"I'll teach you, Doctor," she said in resignation, pulling on her coat, "but you have to pay me in hot chocolate! Ha ha!" she added in triumph.

"Ah, no, I'm driving, and you're paying, I'm afraid, Ms. Oswald. Plus, this coat…" he fingered his black coat, the red accents just right for the season, "it just doesn't have as many pockets as the last one. I don't have and money on me."

"Oh, whatever, Doctor. Maybe you can just promise to have me back home before this evening. Can you manage that? I have a date with Danny… We're going to look at Christmas lights."

"Oh, are you? Well, bah, if you think Earth's Christmas lights are something to mention, you ought to visit Luleraine someday!" He spoke as the TARDIS landed, pulling on a pair of old grey gloves. "_Those_ are Christmas lights!"

Clara rolled her eyes. "I'm sure they're much better, Doctor. Let's go. If you're going to need instruction, we better get on with it. Haven't got all night."

"Must I remind you, we have a _time machine_ at our disposal, Clara. I can have you back whenever you want."

"Oh, so all the times I've been late, that was your fault, then?" Clara fitted a knit hat over her head, preparing to breach the cold Vancouver air.

The Doctor defended himself: "No, no, Clara. You know, you human women are known for the vast amounts of time it takes you to get ready, are you not? Maybe you're late because of _your_ faults, eh? Not mine?"

Clara shook her head, peeking out the front doors, not waiting for him. "Whatever, Doctor. Hey, come on, the sun's already down! Let's go!"

He mimicked her childishly, his voice high and sarcastic. "Come back in two hours, when I'm _ready_, Clara! I'm teaching _class _right now."

"Oh, hush, you, and hurry up."

"Fine." He joined her at the door, marvelling at the deep blue sky, the stars that hung in the sky so brilliantly. A small shop renting ice skates had been set up a short distance away. "There first. Then maybe we'll see about some hot chocolate. _Maybe_." He gestured for her to lead the way. She turned, but he added, "Merry Christmas, Clara," quietly.

She smiled. "Merry Christmas, Doctor."


End file.
